


Changed Worlds

by EarendilEldar



Series: The Undying Lands [3]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Established Relationship, Falling In Love, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Reunions, Sailing To Valinor, Undying Lands, other things change incredibly, some things never change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 03:35:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18652090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarendilEldar/pseuds/EarendilEldar
Summary: When Glorfindel finally arrives in Eldamar again, he finds that some things have changed beyond all imagining... though some things may be just as they always were.





	Changed Worlds

It had been more than an age since Glorfindel had set eyes on Eldamar.  His heart swelled even as he felt peace and calm pour over him like a waterfall.  Home… at long last.  And this time he could stay and settle in, no more the life of a warrior.  Perhaps he could turn poet or loremaster, given all he’d seen.

As the boat approached the quay, Glorfindel found he was somewhat disappointed.  Where were the crowds to welcome them?  Only a few Elves were there and they looked to be (rather bored) Telerin keepers of the port. 

“Was our coming unlooked for, or have we arrived on a day of some festival, even as did Eärendil upon these shores?” Glorfindel huffed.  “Surely this should be marked – the first of the Children of Aulë to see these shores, to say nothing of the arrival of the sons of Elrond!”

“That will mean they have barred their doors, my friend,” Legolas laughed as he threw the tow-rope to an Elf on the dock. 

“One might take umbrage with that if one had but the stomach,” grumbled the now white-haired Dwarf.  The sooner they were ready to debark the better! 

“I meant the twins,” Legolas grinned.

“I daresay many expected we had chosen otherwise,” Elladan shrugged. 

“Daerada might have mentioned…,” Elrohir said, beginning to feel mildly put out himself.

“’Rohir… daerada?  The moment he stepped off the boat and got talking to Mithrandir, he wouldn’t have noticed if his robes caught fire.”

Elrohir gave a half shrug, then frowned and looked over at his brother.  “I just want to see naneth, ‘Ladan.”

“Me too,” Elladan said quietly.  “Come, let us give them a surprise,” he said, calling up a smile as he put an arm around Elrohir’s shoulder and together they hopped down off the ship’s rail.

Legolas and Gimli made use of the gangplank, and wandered down to the shore, both rapt of the sights of Aman. 

Glorfindel just sighed and made his way off the ship.  How strange, after all these years, being left to his own devices….  The first order of business, he decided, was to find out where his dear old friend was staying and if he’d found the healing he so deserved.  And so off Glorfindel went toward Tirion, by way of the gentle woodlands surrounding the grand city.

As he walked through the forest, remembering the uniqueness of the very air of the West, he could swear he heard music off and away.  It was a low song, played softly, a tune Glorfindel knew deep down was familiar, but from where and when?  He really had meant to go directly to the city to enquire after Erestor, but now he felt compelled to this diversion, pulled along to follow the sound of the music.

After a few minutes’ stealthy tracking – a habit he had not yet fallen out of – he came upon a clearing filled with little blue flowers in the grass that gave a woodsy, aromatic, cleansing scent.  In the centre were two chairs that looked to have been carved of a tree that might have fallen there long ago.  Upon one sat a tall, dark-haired Elf robed in a silvery-blue that rivaled the flowers.  He had a flute at his lips and though his back was to Glorfindel, Glorfindel knew him at once and remembered his song.

“ _Eithel_ ,” Glorfindel murmured. 

The flautist slowly turned his head toward the speaker, not lowering his instrument until he laid eyes on the Golden Lord of Gondolin.  Then his lips parted in amazement and he broke out in a fond smile.  “ _Mallos_ …!”  Ecthelion rose to embrace Glorfindel as he entered the clearing.  “My dear friend… how many ages it has been!  I had wondered would you come at all.”

Glorfindel laughed as he squeezed Ecthelion fiercely.  “What a foolish thing to wonder!  You did not think the Lords re-housed and sent me back to stay there evermore, did you?”

“Who can tell their intentions?  After all, it is the speculation of some that you were sent back due to the great amount of annoyance you might have caused to those souls resting in the hallowed Halls of Mandos….”  

Glorfindel groaned.  “Only just back and I see I am no more revered by those who knew me of old than ever I was.  Now, _that_ is why I might have remained in Middle Earth, where Men are still awed of me!”

Ecthelion threw back his head and laughed so loudly he startled several birds in the surrounding trees, who chirped their displeasure in clipped tones at the two Elves.  “Ai, my friend, we who knew you then know better!” Ecthelion said.  “But, come, will you not sit a while here with me?  We have many years to cover.”

“We have,” Glorfindel nodded, “and so we shall.  But, first, I have an important promise to keep.  Do you know where I might find Master Erestor, who arrived some years ago with the bearers of the rings?”

Ecthelion smiled.  “Everyone knows Erestor,” he chuckled.  “You will most likely find the loremaster at home in his library.  Go back to the path and do not turn when it diverges toward the city.  Rather, follow onward toward the mountains until the woodland ends and you find a great house of green stone.  You will mistake it for none other.  But when you’ve done there, return and sing with me our old songs?  I remember how sweet was your voice with my flute.”

“Return I shall,” Glorfindel said, clasping Ecthelion’s shoulder.  “Though… as I recall it, it was your flute that was sweet with my voice.”

“Too much time in the East has addled your wits,” Ecthelion laughed, shooing Glorfindel away out of the clearing. 

Glorfindel just grinned and went on his way back to the path.  After a while, he found himself glancing back as the sound of Ecthelion’s flute gradually became fainter.  He smiled softly – how good to see his once-dearest friend again, after so long!  And how he looked forward to coming back this way and speaking with him more and singing with him again, or just watching Ecthelion playing so devotedly and ably, his full lips and long fingers, the quiet tenderness that was so at odds with his strong features and ready laughter and exceptional dexterity with a blade….

* * *

As the path lead out of the woodland that sat about Tirion, there at the foot of the mountains indeed stood a fine house fashioned from stones with a distinctive green hue.  It looked tranquil and cosy, surrounded by flourishing gardens.  There was no one about to greet or direct him, so Glorfindel made his way through the garden and up the steps to the broad porch.  The finely-worked main doors of the house stood open and welcoming, so Glorfindel stepped inside. 

To his left, a wide stairway curved elegantly up to a first floor while a breezy corridor followed on deeper into the house.  To the right there was a gathering hall that looked like it frequently hosted many friends through evenings of laughter and song.  Everywhere were beautiful tapestries and sculpted stone and exquisite pottery and trees and flowers.  This was a house of beauty and light and happiness, even moreso than Imladris had been. 

Glorfindel supposed he should announce his presence.  It was probably rather rude to stroll through someone’s home unasked, even if this was supposed to be the home of one of his dearest friends.  But the further he walked, the more he was kept silent by the charm of this quiet, lovely house.  On the wall of the corridor hung one tapestry Glorfindel recognized.  It had been on the wall of Erestor’s bedchamber and was one of the only things he’d taken with him on the journey west.  It was unfinished at the bottom, still, and depicted Erestor and his beloved Lord Celebrimbor on what would have been their wedding day at Ost-in-Edhil so long ago. 

Glorfindel wondered if it was possible that they were yet apart and had just decided to call out and see if anyone was at home when he turned and found the room opposite was clearly the library Ecthelion had mentioned. Glorfindel stepped to the doorway to knock upon the open door and spotted someone inside, making notes in a ledger as he sorted through an armful of scrolls.

Glorfindel cleared his throat softly and asked the Elf clad in robes of shimmering peacock-like blue-green, “Your pardon, friend, but I wonder where I might find Master Erestor?”

“You might find him at home in his library,” replied the Elf dryly before he finished the notation and looked back over his shoulder.  “Oh.  I see.  The Great Golden Toad has come at last.”

Glorfindel stared gobsmacked and probably looking rather toad-like, indeed.  There was no mistaking the pierce of Erestor’s grey eyes, to say nothing of that tone of voice, but… since when did Erestor o Eregion wear colours?  And such vivid, joyful ones! 

After several moments of Glorfindel’s stunned inarticulation, Erestor cocked a brow.  “Either you are overcome from the exhausting journey or King Thranduil has seen fit to have severed your vocal chords.  I might not entirely disagree with him after all.”

Finally, Glorfindel thought he’d recovered his train of thought enough to manage a suitable riposte.  Unfortunately, all he came out with was, “What _are_ you wearing?”

“Ah.  You can still talk.  Oh, well.  Perhaps you’d better sit, then,” Erestor said, setting his scrolls and quill aside and coming to pull Glorfindel in where he might sit upon a soft chaise.  “And these are _robes_ ,” he said slowly and clearly, as if speaking to a particularly inebriated hobbit.  “They are a comfortable alternative to the tunic and leggings you favour, but still not to be confused with a frock.  Quite.”

“Oh, stop being your sour old self!” Glorfindel said, finally shaking off his confusion.  “It is years since I’ve seen you – and I’ve never seen you in such a shade as this!” Glorfindel said, poking teasingly at Erestor’s shoulder.  “Now, come, tell me everything!”

Erestor crossed his arms rather sullenly.  “I shall hardly tell you everything.  If you wanted to know it, you might have come in the first place.  You surely recall how I do so detest having to recount a tale for late arrivals or those who cannot keep up.”

Glorfindel rolled his eyes.  Whatever the hue of Erestor’s robes, some things clearly had not changed in the interim!  Grasping Erestor’s shoulder, Glorfindel’s mien turned earnest.  “Erestor, our many old poniards aside.  Is he with you again?”

Slowly, the sharpness of Erestor’s expression softened into a smile and the iciness of his eyes warmed to a sparkle.  It was as alien to see on Erestor as his bright robes.  “Aye, mellon.  We are one and whole again, he and I, for the rest of time as we know it.”

Glorfindel clasped Erestor in a tight, joyful embrace.  “I am so glad for you,” he murmured.  “And did I not tell you your fears were all for naught!” he added with a smug laugh.

“No, in fact, you did not,” Erestor rejoined as he lightly shoved Glorfindel away.  “You always said that the Lords of the West were inscrutable and none could say.  Now, if you can possibly sit there and be silent for five minutes whiles I finish what I was doing before you barged in… I shall take leave of my peaceful hallow and offer you a glass of wine.”

Glorfindel again rolled his eyes, but took the offered seat and watched as quietly as he could while Erestor returned to his scrolls and ledger.  Eventually, though, Glorfindel’s curiosity overcame his resolve to keep mute.  “Does Lord Celebrimbor abide here with you, then?”

Erestor glanced over at Glorfindel with a resigned huff but continued his work.  “He certainly should; he built this home for us both, and he _is_ my husband.  You, of course, missed the wedding but I was unwilling to delay it for another age until you decided to grace Eldamar with your comely countenance again.”

“Well, that is a pity.  I was so looking forward to giving you away,” Glorfindel quipped.

Erestor just shook his head.  “You are a ridiculous creature,” he muttered.

“If you like.  However, you may be interested to learn that the whole of the ballast of the ship I crossed on was comprised of barrels of Dorwinion wine.  And several crates of miruvor, as well.  I am as good as my word.”

Erestor shrugged.  “We have superior wines and cordials here, but I thank you for your pains.”

Glorfindel pouted, though he’d known that all along.  “I did also sail with the twins, though.”

At that Erestor did stop.  “The boys have come?  Truly?”

“Aye, of course truly.  I would not jest about that.”

“Their coming was unlooked for; Elrond and Celebrían will be overjoyed.”

Glorfindel made a thoughtful noise.  “They seemed to think that Lord Celeborn might have imparted word of their ultimate choice.”

Erestor shook his head.  “It is as likely that they neglected to inform him, presuming that he already knew.  You know those two.”

Glorfindel laughed.  “Aye, I do.”

“Well, I suppose I might as well abandon all hope of a productive day.  Come, let us drink.  I suppose I owe you a welcome, and I should like to hear news of our King and Queen of Men.”

Glorfindel sighed.  “That news I shall keep short for now.  Their days were filled with peace and joy, and their son is a very fine young King and their daughters incredible and accomplished ladies.”

“Oh,” Erestor said softly.  “Of course, you would not have come until such a time.  Nor would the boys.”  Erestor was quiet for a moment, then took Glorfindel’s arm and drew him away toward a dining hall where he took two deep cups and a full decanter from a sideboard.  “Let us talk of gladder news, then, and sit with me in the garden where we can enjoy the fine day.”

“I shall not keep you too long,” Glorfindel said as they took up seats on a bench under a tree filled with fragrant white flowers. “I promised another old friend that I would join him on my way back.”

“Thank the Valar,” Erestor murmured teasingly.

“You are a trial to be borne!” Glorfindel huffed, pondering how he always managed to befriend those so proficient in the art of cheekiness.  “Erestor, I wonder, do you know Ecthelion of Gondolin well?  Only, it was he who I met on the way here and directed me to your house.  He and I were fast friends in the city – it is in fact he I promised to meet again later – and I… well, it is ages since I last knew him, you see.”

Erestor gave Glorfindel a shrewd look as he poured them each a glass.  “I would not say we are particular friends, but I have spoken with him any number of times when we chance to meet, which is not infrequently as Celeb has done a fair bit of work now with Rog of Gondolin and, of course, Ecthelion is quite social with that set.  And we do have a common experience of hardship, after all.  A most gifted flautist he is.  And, oddly, I do not believe I’ve ever once heard the word ‘Balrog’ from his lips.  Isn’t that a wonder!”

“Common hardship?” Glorfindel said, his brow furrowed, ignoring Erestor’s Balrog jibe.

Erestor just smiled and passed a glass to Glorfindel with a nod. 

“Gods….  I shouldn’t speak to either of you!”

“Would you swear to not!” Erestor smirked.  “Why, prithee, do you enquire about him, when surely you might ask him directly?”

“I only wished to know if there were any subjects I ought avoid,” Glorfindel grumbled, “as it has been very many millennia, as I mentioned.”

“Perhaps you mean to enquire, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, if the Lord of the House of the Fountain is, in fact… spoken for?” Erestor said with a grin.

Again Glorfindel’s brows knit slightly.  “No, I merely….  Is he?”

Erestor now laughed openly, a light and easy laugh that Glorfindel had most assuredly never heard from the once austere Chief Counselor.  “How very interesting!  He is not, to the best of common knowledge,” Erestor said.  

“That’s nice,” Glorfindel said with poorly-feigned disinterest. 

Erestor laughed again, his eyes sparkling mischievously.  He could scarcely wait to tease Glorfindel once the two famed Balrog-slayers of Gondolin figured it out for themselves.  From down the hill where a clear, bright stream ran, came another dark-haired Elf, clad in a sleeveless tunic and leggings, up toward the green-stone house and the sparkle in Erestor’s eyes turned warmer. 

“Ah.  Along comes my beloved husband,” Erestor said proudly, passing his cup to Glorfindel and going to the open gates to greet Celebrimbor, who wrapped his arms tightly around Erestor’s waist and lifted him up with a deep kiss, his long, thick plait still dripping from his bath in the stream moments before.

Glorfindel, watching from across the garden, wondered at the ease and lightness, the sense of contentment that Erestor now seemed to inhabit.  The new brightly-hued robes were clearly only the superficies of the change in his friend, for he certainly could never have imagined Erestor permitting anyone to lift him up like that and live to tell the tale.  For all the time Glorfindel had known him, Erestor was most accurately described as ‘stiff as a board and acerbic as a lemon’.  Now he was relaxed and smiling warmly in the arms of his husband.  The change was most incredible.

“You foolish smith,” Erestor murmured fondly when he was set back down upon the ground, though he couldn’t resist taking another short kiss of his own.  “We have a guest, lately come from the East.”

Celebrimbor pulled Erestor a bit closer and whispered, “For the love of Aulë, tell me not that Thranduil has changed his mind and left Middle Earth!”

Erestor snickered and swatted at Celebrimbor’s arm.  “No!  Come.  And attempt to acquit yourself like a Lord, please!”

Celebrimbor rolled his eyes but followed Erestor, attempting to pat dry the back of his neck where his damp plait hung down as they wended their way through the garden to one of the benches where sat a tall, blond Elf holding two goblets. 

“Glorfindel, I’d like to present my husband, Lord Celebrimbor,” Erestor said as they approached. 

Glorfindel stood, still holding the two goblets, and inclined his head graciously.  Erestor shook his head and plucked the two vessels out of his hands before turning to his husband.  “Beloved, at last I present to you one of my dearest friends, Lord Glorfindel of Gondolin.  And now I am convinced that you are two of a kind,” he added in a murmur, “great but lovable fools, both.”

“Lord Glorfindel,” Celebrimbor said, extending his hand, “this is truly an honour.  Your name was well-known in Nargothrond when I dwelt there.  Indeed, I many times thought I might seek for the hidden city myself, especially after Nargothrond fell.”

Glorfindel took Celebrimbor’s handclasp but shook his head.  “We none of us had long peace in those days.  But from what I have heard, you had the finest city of all, and exceptional prosperity to match, in Ost-in-Edhil.”

Erestor might have known that those two would fall to comparing stories of the First Age given half a chance.  They would go on all night if he didn’t deftly chair this meeting, especially if talk turned to war-stories.

“Glorfindel,” Erestor said quickly, “I know you are eager to return to your friend, but will you not stay a bit longer?  Surely you would like to refresh yourself and take a decent meal after that arduous journey over the sea?”

Glorfindel grinned at Erestor.  Now this was indeed something that had not changed!  Glorfindel knew very well the difference between Erestor’s invitations and his ‘suggestions’.  This was clearly of the latter.  He supposed he likely was a bit on the travel-worn side and maybe he could tidy up a bit before going on to greet Ecthelion again. 

“You are most welcome here at Dûnereg,” Celebrimbor said amenably, for he, too, knew well that Erestor fully expected his ‘suggestions’ to be followed.

Glorfindel nodded.  “My thanks.  Perhaps I shall stay just long enough to freshen up.  Something to eat other than lembas would be rather welcome as well.”

“Exactly,” Erestor said as if there had been no other possible response.  “Now, come, I shall show you the wonderful bath house my adoring husband built me here and you shall take your ease while I fetch you something appropriate to wear, and then we shall all take a meal together.  Celeb, go on to the kitchen and light the fire, will you please?  There was some beautiful, fresh pink fish brought just this morning, I shall prepare it and we will feast nicely tonight.”

“Ever am I at your service, beloved,” Celebrimbor said, bowing solemnly with his hand over his heart.

“Silly Elf,” Erestor smirked, even as he leaned in to kiss Celebrimbor’s cheek before taking Glorfindel’s arm in his and leading him through the garden around to the back of the house where stood a smaller building of white stone, handsomely inlaid with gold and silver motifs of stars, flowers, and trees.  Erestor lead the way in and directly passed the inviting pools of water to an antechamber.  He opened a cupboard and withdrew linens and a small basket of assorted phials. 

“Now, take these with you to the pools,” he said, pushing the basket and linens into Glorfindel’s arms, “the one in black marble is the hot pool and it is utterly _exquisite_ for relaxation – and when you’ve finished I’ll have fresh robes waiting for you here.  After you’ve dressed, that passage opposite leads back into the house.  We shall be ready to eat by then.  I’ll leave a cool drink here on the dresser when I bring the robes.  I most often enjoy that after a hot bath.”

Erestor was about to bustle off again when Glorfindel spoke up.  “Erestor, as much as I appreciate all this – and I do – I don’t really need fresh things, I’ve only worn this tunic and leggings since morning, you needn’t go to that trouble.”

“Glorfindel,” Erestor sighed, “while I am practically certain that dressing to dinner went out of fashion in Imladris approximately an hour after Elrond last departed the western borders, and while I am most definitely certain that you have seen changes in me you would have thought less likely than taking tea with a party of orcs, there are a few things that I remain intractably old-fashioned about.  I will bring you robes, and if you wish to leave them when you depart that is your prerogative, but I always have something suitable available for guests who hadn’t planned on stopping for supper.”

Glorfindel couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped him.  “It _is_ good to see you again, my friend.  Your hospitality is no less generous than ever it was.  Thank you.  I will be prompt for supper,” he promised.

Erestor simply nodded and left via the door he’d indicated as going back inside the house proper. 

Once Glorfindel had enjoyed ablutions in the beautiful private bathing house (Erestor had not exaggerated the exquisiteness of that hot pool!) he went back to the dressing to find Erestor had left a set of pale green silken robes embroidered all-over with golden thread.  On the dressing table, beside a comb and set of golden braid clasps set with green stones, sat a crystal cup of an aromatic cordial with sliced strawberries. 

For a moment, Glorfindel just stood there thinking how much he had missed having a friend who fussed over these little details so.  Erestor’s guess was correct when he’d said that many of the old formalities had departed Imladris with the departure of the Ring-bearers.  Most often when he took a meal with the twins and Lord Celeborn, they were all attired in whatever they’d worn since that morning – no one dressed to dinner and most sported only the simplest, most practical of braids.  Erestor would have come all over in splotches at the very notion and wondered that they didn’t just all dine around a campfire like a lot of Woodelves. 

Having attired himself to what he was sure would be an acceptable level, Glorfindel followed the passage back into the house and found himself in the same corridor that he had entered when he arrived.  He passed the library and made for the dining hall where he found Lord Celebrimbor, now in robes of royal blue, pouring glasses of wine.

“Ah, welcome, Lord Glorfindel,” Celebrimbor said, “come and sit.  Erestor will be in momentarily with our meal.”

“My thanks,” Glorfindel said with a genuine version of the teasing bow Celebrimbor had given Erestor upon being directed to the kitchen. 

“Please,” Celebrimbor smiled, “while some things are formal here, others are not.  Take your ease, you are amongst friends.”

“Then I ask you to leave out my title as well.  Unless Aman is very much different from the last time I saw these shores, lordship is something of a silly affectation here.”

“You will be relieved to know, as am I, that has not changed,” Celebrimbor laughed, offering Glorfindel a glass of wine. 

“I must beg your pardon,” Glorfindel said, taking a sip, “but it had rather sounded like Erestor was meaning to cook our meal himself.  Am I much mistaken?  I never before saw him enter a kitchen unless to do battle with the chefs.”

Celebrimbor laughed again.  “Oh, no, you are not mistaken!  My husband cooks often, and well.  I am extremely fortunate, in many ways.  You see, living outside the city and a bit off on our own… well, things are so different to how they were in our old cities.  Here it is just he and I, no cooks or maids or grooms or gardeners.”  

“I never imagined our counselor to be so… self-sufficient,” Glorfindel said.

“Oh, he is, very much.  He runs a tight ship, as the Teleri say,” Celebrimbor grinned.  Then he turned rather serious.  “I have much to thank you for, Glorfindel.  Erestor has said that while he dwelt in Imladris you were a dear friend to him.  It was one of my worst fears when I faced death that he should have to face the world alone, especially when I learned that magic of my working was so strong as to preserve his life against the rending of our united fëar.”

Glorfindel dipped his head in acknowledgment and followed to take a seat at the table with Celebrimbor.  “It is true that Erestor took into his confidence very few.  I think perhaps only myself, Elrond, and King Gil-galad knew the extent of his loss, and I think fewer still ever considered that grief unfathomable was the root of his oft… well… he could, at times, be somewhat on the... sharp side.”

“That might well have been the case, but, believe me, that sharpness was not wholly born of our separation. I never could put an edge to a blade that could match my beloved Counselor's sharp tongue," Celebrimbor said with a slight smirk.  “I do know, though, that he had grown very cheerless through the years, and that saddens me.  As you see him now is how I knew him in Eregion – happy and easy of heart, quick to laugh and even quicker to riposte, and so, so stubborn.  Do you know – those three damned rings I fashioned?  I would have destroyed them myself in a heartbeat, but that I had hoped they might be of use one day.  But when I grew truly afraid that war would soon be upon Eregion, I sent – begged, truly – Erestor to take them where they would be safe and hidden.  It was nothing but an excuse.  I cared nothing for those rings.  It was he I meant to keep safe, but I knew he would never have accepted that without my insisting that the rings had to be kept safe.”

“You did as you had to, as do we all in such times.  But to see him now,” Glorfindel smiled, “to see how happy he is….  You both endured much, but, come new days, and here we are, and all of our suffering and sorrows have been duly recompensed.”

“You speak wisely,” Celebrimbor nodded.  “But, come, let us talk of happier things.  Eres said that you would be visiting another friend after dining with us.  Someone you knew of old?”

Glorfindel nodded.  “Aye.  Ecthelion of Gondolin.  He and I were the dearest of friends in that city.”

“Oh yes, I have spoken with him many times.  He is quite an accomplished musician.  We are often entertained by him, along with Elrond or some of the other harpers, during days of festival.  Your compatriot Rog the smith has often worked with me as well.”

“I’ve heard that he, too, did very valiant service in the last hours of our fight against the hosts of Morgoth.  I shall be glad to meet with my fellows once again.  Are there many others from Gondolin dwelling at Tirion?” Glorfindel asked. 

“A number.  Though, it seems there are some who… have yet to join those of us who abide east of the mountains,” Celebrimbor said.

Glorfindel needed no clarification of that statement.  The fate of Gondolin had, after all, been sealed from within as much as from without and some of his own comrades-in-arms had proved craven and treacherous when met with battle.

“I do hope the two of you haven’t decided to rehash all your gruesome war stories at my table,” Erestor said sternly as he appeared from a side door with a large platter, laden with a one side of a large pink fish, covered in finely chopped green nuts, surrounded by roasted potatoes and vegetables, all sat on a bed of grain. 

“Never, my dear one,” Celebrimbor vowed, catching Erestor’s hand and kissing it after he set the tray upon the table.  “Thank you.  This all looks exceptional.  You have outdone yourself once again.”

“I do my best,” Erestor smirked, sitting beside Celebrimbor and opposite Glorfindel.  “Now, no ceremony.  Eat well, my good lords.”

“Tell me, Glorfindel,” Celebrimbor said as they helped themselves, “you must surely have travelled here with others, but most of us had rather thought that the arrival of Círdan, Celeborn, and Master Gamgee was the last we were to see.”

“One would be forgiven for thinking so,” Glorfindel said.  “In truth, I only delayed as long as I did because I had the word of the Prince of Eryn Lasgalen that he would be constructing a ship and sailing after the death of our Estel.  It gave me some more time to counsel Elrond’s sons to come as well.”

“Prince of Eryn Lasgalen?” Celebrimbor said hesitantly with a subtle glance in Erestor’s direction.

Erestor couldn’t help laughing.  “There is a new Prince since the Second Age, my love.  And he’s a decent Elfling, really.  Appreciates the wider world a bit more than Oropherion.”

“I’d be lying if I said that was not a relief,” Celebrimbor said.  “Apologies, Glorfindel, it was not my intention to cast aspersions.  Only, it was Thranduil I knew as Prince of the Greenwood and we had our clashes at times.  He was not often very genial to some of my honoured guests of the Gonnhirrim.”

“Aye.  Little has changed in that regard.  But I think you will find that not at all the case with Legolas Thranduilion,” Glorfindel said.  “As it happens, the fifth member of our band of travellers was his fast friend, Gimli of the Line of Durin.”

Erestor and Celebrimbor both looked up at Glorfindel in astonishment. 

“The Line of Durin!” Celebrimbor murmured.

“Speak you truly?” Erestor said.  “Now I know these are changed days!”

Glorfindel just nodded.  “I think Eldamar has never seen so many different peoples.  How fare the Periain?”

Erestor sighed, guessing it was his turn to bear unhappy news.  “Our dear old Bilbo went to his long sleep several years after we arrived here.  He did leave a proliferation of writing in my care, though.  All the in the library, naturally.  Frodo outlived him by some margin – he passed some ten years ago.  Samwise, however, is still among us.  He dwells in the House of Elrond and Celebrían.  The strawberries in your dressing drink were from his garden.”

“Gardener to the last,” Glorfindel said fondly.  “Well, I mustn’t leave it long till I visit Elrond, of course, and then I shall thank the valiant gardener for those berries.  Though I think I shall let the family be reunited for a time before I do.”

“Aye, make your visit to Ecthelion, first,” Erestor said with a knowing smile that either escaped Glorfindel’s notice or was willfully ignored.

* * *

Later that night, Erestor and Celebrimbor settled into one another’s arms to take their repose for the night, as always they did.  Erestor pressed a kiss to Celebrimbor’s neck as he rested his head upon Celebrimbor’s broad, strong shoulder.  Celebrimbor carded his fingers through Erestor’s long, silky hair. 

“I’m glad your old friend has come to join us at last,” Celebrimbor said.

“As am I,” Erestor nodded.  “And I will be glad to Elrond’s sons again, as well.”

“It had taken all of these days for the Noldori to truly know peace,” Celebrimbor mused. 

“Lasting peace, aye.  For my part, I knew peace when first you held me in your arms, my noble smith.”

Celebrimbor pulled Erestor closer and held him tightly.  “You were the first peace I ever knew, too, my learned scribe,” he whispered against Erestor’s ear.

“Think you Ecthelion shall be amenable to Glorfindel’s attentions?” Erestor said with an amused smile.

Celebrimbor just laughed.  “I’m sure of it.  Once Glorfindel realises he fancies our skillful flautist, that is.”

Erestor snickered soft.  “Ai, I am relieved we never danced so round one another!”

“Eres, though I may be no more than a simple smith, even I could not have misconstrued this love between us.”  

“You have always been much more than a simple smith,” Erestor chided, “and not even I could have denied this, even with all my determination to remain detached.”

“I’m glad you did not remain detached,” Celebrimbor murmured, “for I am inextricably attached to you, beautiful counselor.”

“I very much prefer being attached to you, too, my handsome lord,” Erestor said.  “Very much, indeed.”

 

 


End file.
